Escape

A/N

So this is my first story on Wattpad... I wrote this for a school assignment and I needed to post something so here it is! Please don't be mean, I don't normally write this style! But helpful criticism is most welcome. Thanks, Tori x

A family of four walk through the busy coffee shop door, chatting noisily, comfortably. I envy them, with their generous mum and lively dad. Well, mine will never want me. I'm the disappointment, the punching bag. I self-consciously pull my copper-brown hair behind my ear as I glance around the noisy building, waiting to see if anyone is going to approach me.

"Your shift's nearly over, Cara," my boss Eddie calls, sticking his head out of the kitchen door.

"Okay, I'll start packing up, thanks," I reply, turning back to the counter to find the mother and her daughter waiting.

"Can I have a choc-chip cookie?" The little blonde girl asks eagerly.

"Please!" Her mother, playfully correcting her. "I'll take two coffees, a blueberry muffin and the cookie, thanks."

"Sure, that'll be $13.50," I say, smiling, before placing her order on the countertop.

"Thanks!" She answers, carrying her order over to her family.

I take my apron off and hang it in the kitchen just as my replacement steps out to serve the ever-growing line out front.

"Bye, Eddie!" I yell behind me as I step out into the crisp fresh afternoon. Opening the gate from the back entrance, I breathe in the sights and sounds of the busy street. Passing traffic, couples strolling, the vast parklands opposite. The warm, doughy smell of fresh bread wafting down from the bakery. Manhattan was alive. I grab my skateboard and jump on. Suddenly I am gliding, flying down the road, bright lights flashing above me, towards who knows where. Certainly not home. I dread going home. Dread finding my parents there. Dread finding out what they will do to me next.

It's getting late, and I can't skateboard around the city forever. So I decide to take my chances. I go home. I arrive outside the ghostly building, a large white prison, threatening to capture me and never let me out. The small, perfectly manicured lawns on either sides of the path gaze at me sternly, and the large, menacing windows stare me down as I approach the jail. I take one last step forward and place my palm silently on the doorknob. I can't breathe. Slowly, slowly, I turn it, anticipating the terrible fate that awaits me. If I can just make it to my room... BANG!! The door flies open. And then it's just me and my parents. Me and my parents, staring at each other. I sprint for the stairs, my only saviour from this hell. Both of my parents lunge for me, and my father snags the head of my hoodie. I bounce back, dropping my bag and skateboard, petrified out of my mind. 'Please, if there is anyone kind in this world, anyone at all, please save me, save me!' I think.

"And just where have you been?" My father yells at me, grabbing my hair. I can smell alcohol on his breath.

"W-work!" I stutter, falling into his grasp.

My mother leers over me, "What took you so long? We've been waiting for you, Cara," she says coldly, roughly clutching my arm and dragging me towards the pristine kitchen.

White cabinets surround the cooking area, above the black marble counters and large cooktop. A bright white refrigerator stands in the corner, accompanied by an equally huge freezer. A scratched wooden chair sits on the black and white tiles. The torture chair. My parents shove me into it, tying my ankles, waist, arms and neck down. 'So you don't hurt yourself,' they used to say. Now I know better: so I don't hurt them.

"Now, let's have some fun," my mother taunts, slowly reaching for a knife.

~

I collapse on my bed, smearing the white cover with blood. Eventually I rise and stagger towards my stand-alone mirror. Blood covers my shorts, stains the light denim. Drops of blood ooze out of the huge gash on my face and onto my white singlet top. I have a black eye, and a giant bruise on my right forearm. I lift my top up slightly, to find another whopping bruise on my stomach. Thanks, Dad. Red belt marks cover my arms, sides and legs. As for the knife, well, Mum used that to her advantage. Four or five marks on each leg, still squeezing out blood. I'm mildly surprised: my mother had never cut that much before. Having observed all my battle wounds, I drag myself into the ensuite shower, before double-checking that my bedroom door is locked and sliding carefully into bed. 'I don't know how much more I can take of this,' I think. 'I guess I won't be going to school tomorrow, or work."

~

Sunlight streams through my open window. Tears slide down my cheeks as I trace one finger along the scar on my arm. Through my blurry eyes I see a pure, white butterfly landing on the curve of my wrist. Puzzled, I blink, but the butterfly is gone. I sit up and run, out the window and onto the pavement below, making my final escape into the outside world.